


Warmth

by Nightscrawl



Series: The Meaning of More [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14032506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightscrawl/pseuds/Nightscrawl
Summary: An interesting mage stands in the shadows. Who will be the one to pull him out of the cold?





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Schattenriss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss) for encouraging me to post this, doing a beta and offering suggestions!

Despite its ubiquity and penchant for curing what ails you, Judah Trevelyan had never liked the taste of elfroot; it was bitter and left an unpleasant tang in his mouth that only served as a reminder of his dislike for the miracle plant until it dissipated.

When a child, he was forced to choke down elfroot tea for sore throats. Now an adult, he barely tolerated chewing its leaves to relieve a headache or soothe an upset stomach, greatly preferring the topical use of its juices to numb the pain of a wound, or the application of elfroot oil to ease away muscle aches after a bout of rigorous training. As part of the Inquisition, he had been obliged to consume much more of it than he cared to in the form of invigorating healing potions. They were immensely useful, sometimes necessary, and he hated each and every draught.

A few days prior, a kick in the gut by a bandit left his insides churning for hours afterward and he reluctantly drank a potion in order to ease the pain and help himself to sleep. He’d finally had enough and decided that he would inquire of Adan—the Inquisition’s apothecary—whether the addition of any flavoring would alter its effectiveness as a healing agent; a spice, a sugar, a salt, anything would do, so long as it improved the taste by some measure.

As Judah made his way toward the tiny wooden building from which Adan dispensed his medicinal relief, his attention was drawn to a recent member of the Inquisition: Dorian Pavus. He found the Tevinter mage interesting and enjoyed talking with him. Intelligent, keen, with little patience for the false perceptions of others, even as he understood and expected them. Dorian sometimes sharpened his words with disdain or condescension, but his tone seemed to blunt their edge, making his remarks more amusing than wounding. Perhaps Judah thought so because they had never been directed at _him_ , and he hoped they never would be.

The man was ridiculously good looking, and what’s more, he knew it and made an effort to maintain it. On inquiry, Blackwall, their new grey warden confederate, stated that Dorian “preens himself,” but Judah felt that the term wasn’t quite accurate. While he _was_ prideful in his appearance, and rightly so to Judah’s mind, he groomed with _purpose_ and seemed to like the routine of it.

While they were camping, Judah stole secretive glances as the other man went through his morning ablutions and discovered that he enjoyed watching Dorian shave; amusing, considering that he disliked shaving his own face. His movements were swift, precise, and practiced; it was obvious that he made the effort to have each stroke be as efficient as possible while doing the task out of doors, knowing the rest of the party would not wait, nor expecting them to. On one occasion, he caught Judah watching him. Grey eyes shifted to him for the briefest moment before again focusing on his own face in the tiny traveling mirror. Rather than look away in embarrassment, Judah recovered by striking up a conversation, a lame question about something that he barely remembered a few hours later.

Judah watched as Dorian stared off into the distance, his mind focused on unknown thoughts, standing in the shadow between two buildings with his arms crossed, looking cold. He sighed to see him. The sunlight was a mere inch away, yet the man stood there, suffering the chill of the shade, when all he had to do was take a single step forward.

Although it appeared so, Dorian was not aware of the cold in that particular moment, for his mind was elsewhere. He considered the confluence of events that led to his coming south and joining the Inquisition. Alexius’s desperation to save his son had been so great that he forsook everything he believed in—everything he taught Dorian and encouraged _him_ to believe in—to join a cult of Tevinter supremacists.

Despite it all, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt and regret, and wonder whether anything he could have done might have led to a different path for his once-admired mentor. The pessimist in him thought it likely not, however he might wish otherwise. Even when they quarreled, Alexius had already begun to veer off the path of reason and Dorian doubted that his continued support would have counted for much after that point. As they learned in that terrible future, the Breach was the only thing that made possible the successful use of time magic. Once that was discovered, it seemed inevitable that Alexius would fall in with the one responsible for its creation in hopes of using it to his advantage in order to save his child.

It was incredibly sad and tremendously disappointing. Both of the great men in his life—first his mentor and then his father—had abandoned their principles when circumstances gave them permission to do so. But how deeply-rooted could those values have been if they were so easily cast aside? Wasn’t that the whole point? If you truly believed you were right and true and just, wasn’t it _supposed_ to be hard to make that choice? To stick with your principles because it’s _the right thing to do_ , no matter the cost?

What did that mean for himself? Dorian didn’t like the person either man had become and wondered whether some situation, as of yet unknown, would tempt him to also forsake his own beliefs. Was everyone that way? Did all people, himself included, have a point past which no action was deemed too low, or its result too terrible, as long as one’s particular goal—whatever that may be—was attained? Did no one have real integrity?

Judah stepped into Dorian’s view and said, “You know, you’d be more comfortable if you would stand,” paused to reach forward, grab the right shoulder strap on his armor, and yank Dorian toward himself as he finished, “in the sun.”

Startled out of his reverie, Dorian stumbled toward him, out of the shade and into the brightness and warmth of the sun. Lightning fast, his mind took an unbidden detour, causing him to think for one bizarre moment that Judah was going to kiss him, but the other man quickly backed away after he recovered his balance.

Judah’s manner was playful and casual, verging on familiarity, and while Dorian found it pleasant enough, it hadn't escaped his notice that he didn't behave that way with anyone else in their rag-tag little band of misfits, rebels, and heretics. He supposed that it probably came from a certain level of comfort Judah had around him based on who they were: both men of a similar age, and while Tevinter and Free Marcher, mage and warrior, couldn’t be more different, there was a certain privilege of social rank that one recognized in another, even if it wasn’t taken advantage of or exploited. And too, their time in the future together set them apart from all other members of the Inquisition, a unique experience in Dorian’s life that he shared with only one other person, the one standing before him, smiling in self-satisfaction.

Feigning seriousness as if he’d just been given a command, Dorian replied, “Yes, Your Worship.”

“I would… really prefer _you_ not call me that.”

While he only meant to tease, Judah had taken the remark more seriously than Dorian intended. The emphasis on the “you” was _very_ slight, but he caught it, and thought it interesting. “What should I call you, then?”

“My name.”

“Tre—” Dorian started, reverting to an old habit from the Circles of his youth of referring to one’s peers by their family name, ever the important symbol of status, rank, and privilege.

“No,” Judah interrupted. “That’s my family, not me.”

Dorian had a minor chuckle in response as he said, “I quite understand,” and then gave the man before him his name, “Judah.”

 

 

End.


End file.
